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Brought out to make the world a bit more inclusive, Aspiritech and NeuroXplorers go to the San Diego Museum of Art.
The first thing I noticed about San Diego was the palm trees.
Naturally, SoCal is filled with palm trees so that should be expected, but it was a wonderful sight after being crammed in the middle seat on the plane.
The second thing I noticed about San Diego was the skyline during the ride to the hotel. Against a bruised sky stood dark obelisks speckled with earthly stars, illuminating the areas we passed, including the residential areas that seemed more at home in a city like Los Angeles.
The California Tower of San Diego’s Museum of Us
Rider, my travel partner, and I managed to check into our hotel rooms before meeting the rest of our team for dinner at a place called La Puerta. I ordered the carnitas and pancakes before taking an Uber back to the hotel and retiring for the night.
The next day, we headed for Balboa Park—and once again—not just the architecture of San Diego, but its zoning as well mesmerized me. On verdant hills were what looked like haciendas, tall and proud in the morning light, overlooking their domains of highways and neighborhoods.
Not only was the weather warm, but the buildings were, too. Indeed, I had traded the wooden and plastic-molded exteriors of houses I grew up around for adobe and terracotta.
We had arrived early, before the vendors and art sellers who usually crowd the courtyard came. We were allowed to explore for a while, and I came across the park’s amenities—from the model pueblo village where each country has its own house, to the ornate Spanish Revival exterior of the Museum of Us, to the amphitheater that hosts free organ concerts on Sundays—even if I had to adjust to the blinding Californian sun.
Spreckels Organ Pavilion in Balboa Park
The main reason we were here, though, was for the San Diego Museum of Art. Our task was to assist a museum project to be more inclusive for neurodivergent people. To accomplish this, we first needed to familiarize ourselves with the museum—which meant exploring it at our own pace.
I walked through the vestibule, where a statue depicted a bloodied fascist soldier struggling to control the horse he was on as he retreats from battle in defeat. I began in a section I didn’t expect much from—the minimalist exhibit—but was surprised by how much I enjoyed it. In there, I saw a canvas where purple dissolved into black, found comfort in the uneven lines of another painting, and captured a security guard framed within a sapphire circle installation. Returning to the vestibule, I observed the back of the statue, where the soldier transformed into a demure woman astride a horse gazing up at the moon.
Next was the section of 20th century artists—featuring a genuine Dali print—followed by a collection dedicated to women artists, showcasing works like a matte black city sculpted from dumpster debris and an outhouse, a dripping wire horse, and a bronze tangle of snake-like fingers grasping for security and support. The museum also displayed a variety of artifacts from Japan, Iran, Southeast Asia, Rome, and Africa—all of this is on the first floor.
The second floor contained Mexican printmaking, which captivated me with its depictions of resistance against the government and a striking, stylized newspaper page in Spanish. The second floor also showcased Dutch painters, expressionist painters, and architectural art, including building miniatures complete with tiny furniture and figurines.
Afterwards, we met with members of the museum board and then retired for the day to have lunch. That being said, I decided to skip dinner with the others and meet a friend instead. We feasted on fried chicken at a place called The Crack Shack. The chicken was perfectly seasoned, and the bathroom walls were lined with one-star reviews of the restaurant.
Louise Nevelson, Dream House Wall II, 1969-80
The next day, we were treated to a guided tour of select art pieces within the museum. We composed a contour drawing of the fascist-turned-woman on horseback and discussed it. We examined the intricate details of a Dutch painting depicting a barber-surgeon’s home, which included a dead crocodile, a peeping wife on the upper floor, and the barber’s array of tools. In the women’s section, we noted things that stood out to us or raised questions.
My notes led me back to the matte black city, where I discussed the varying shades of black despite its single coat of paint and the snake-like quality of the fingers.
Then, we examined and analyzed a painting in which the artist depicted stickers, toys, and objects placed in impossible spaces over a portrait of a smug-looking man.
Our final stop was the first half of the minimalist section, where we each chose our favorite piece. I have to admit, I felt especially proud during this part, as we were asked to explain why we chose our favorite piece. I opted for a cutout piece presenting a tangle of lines that nearly formed overlapping cubes, and the group studied it intently. A museum staff member remarked that I added value to it. Maybe I have a future career as a museum tour guide.
Our time at the museum ended, which meant lunch—Rider and I headed to a spot that sold Chicago-style pizza. Naturally, we had to put the place to the test by their pizza. The verdict? They acquitted themselves admirably.
The main event of the evening, however, was dinner at a restaurant called InsideOUT. The restaurant was adorned with plastic cherry blossoms and other fake greenery, with an outdoor section that was still enclosed inside the building itself. The ambience was chic and the menu changed with the seasons. We invited Rider’s sister and her boyfriend to join us—just in case this ultra-trendy restaurant, which could have easily been a backdrop in American Psycho, did indeed harbor a yuppie serial killer in it. Let’s see Patrick Bateman try to take on a party of six.
José Guadalupe Posada, The Skeleton of Don Juan Tenorio woodblock print, circa 1900–1910
Thursday arrived, and this time, we focused on the museum’s library. It wasn’t connected to the museum itself but, rather to a restaurant in Balboa Park called Panama 66. I can’t share the specifics of what we did in the library, but it was undeniably the main reason why we were there.
Again, we split for lunch after our work session. A board member joined us and took us to her favorite place on the coast—a seafood restaurant where the fish was fresh, and the flavors spoke for themselves. It was here that I saw the Pacific for the first time; I reflected on the vastness of the ocean and the gifts it brought to us.
After another nap at the hotel, we enjoyed the final dinner of the trip at a different hotel called La Valencia. Here, I tried octopus tentacle and had my first taste of filet mignon, which was so exquisite it almost brought me to my knees.
Afterward, the team decided to walk along the nearby coast, where we stumbled upon sea lions lounging after a day in the ocean and black seabirds nestled in their rocky perches. There was also a small beach where the tide rolled in, reaching all the way up to the steps leading down to it. None of us dared to venture there, but we each took turns touching the Pacific. In that moment, I felt a powerful connection—a kinship with the vast body of water and all that dwelled within. I even wished to become an octopus myself. Off in the distance, more homes dotted the hilly coast. A view unlike anything one could ever hope to see in Illinois.
The final day approached, and up until now, I haven’t mentioned breakfast—and that was on purpose.
For three out of the five days I had been here, I went to the same place repeatedly—and that place was The Waffle Spot. It’s a quaint diner in a nearby hotel to the one where we were staying at, and they had the best damn waffles I’ve ever had. The place was decorated with cartoon characters of medieval-themed breakfast foods like Sir Wafflelot and the Eggster. They provide placemats where you can draw your own waffle, and they’ll hang it up on display. Some of the placemats were created by obviously talented artists, referencing pop culture icons like South Park, Adventure Time, Run DMC, and Iron Man. If ever I go back to San Diego, I’ll make it a point to have breakfast there everyday. I bend the knee to Sir Wafflelot and vow to slay his enemies with fork and knife, for he is a just and kind ruler of all breakfast.
Psychotic rambling aside, we packed our things and headed to the museum one last time to take care of business before returning to the airport and flying back to Chicago.
Y’know, if someone had told me even a year ago that I’d be flying out to California to work with people at a museum, I would’ve been in shock. I never could have imagined myself dining in the places I did or experiencing the things I did there. That said, life is unpredictable and I like to think I flow with the chaos well—after all, chaos had opened windows for me when order and routine had locked doors. This trip reaffirmed my love for art, chaos, and everything I had become as a person.
Titus and friends take a San Diego selfie
Titus Quarles is a graphic designer for Aspiritech and a NeuroXplorer. He has been with Aspiritech for seven years, providing QA and art for the company. Between art projects, he listens to math rock, plays with his dog, and swims.
“We hired them for the mission. We’ve kept them because they are excellent.”
Aspiritech, NFP
